I Called My Dad and Dumped My Entire Life on Him

(Or: Why Having Room for Everything Doesn't Mean Everything Has to Be Good)

📂 Filed under: Weekly Reports, Parental Information Overload, The Architecture of Living Consciously
🗓 Location: My apartment → International phone line → The space between languages
🧠 Status: Post-weekend, mid-realization, surprisingly spacious
👥 Participants: Me. My dad (channeling love through logistics). Silence (who understands the weight of holding everything simultaneously).

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Sunday evening in Taipei. 7 PM here, 1 PM in France.
My phone buzzes with that specific international ringtone that means family, which means scheduled love disguised as casual interrogation about my life choices.

I'm at the beach. Obviously I miss the call.

Twenty minutes later I post an Instagram story of the sunset with my ridiculously attractive friends looking like a commercial for being alive in our thirties.

Five minutes after that, my dad reacts to the story with a message:
"Funny how you don't see WhatsApp calls but you're very active on Instagram."

Italian dad passive-aggression is an art form — no emojis, just pure deadpan judgment.

So I call him back, because guilt is apparently genetic and I inherited the premium subscription.

I'm translating this French call transcript because my dad calls AI robots with so much confidence it's physically painful to hear.

---

📞 SCENE ONE: THE CALL THAT LEADS NOWHERE (AND EVERYWHERE)

DAD:
Finally.

ME:
Sorry I didn't answer, I've been living my best life.

DAD:
Well I need to catch up since you haven't called me for two weeks!

ME:
Sorry I've been so busy!

DAD:
You're seeing someone?

ME:
I wish but no.

DAD:
Why?

ME:
I know right? It doesn't make sense. I'm so perfect.

DAD:
And very humble too. Do you have money?

ME:
Of course I do.

I am literally putting everything on my credit card but he doesn't need to know that.

DAD:
Do you eat well?

ME:
Dad I'm jacked as fuck, I literally have to eat all day like a Greek god because obviously I need to maintain this masterpiece of a body, and also I've been going to this other World Gym that's bigger and the guys there are insane, like ridiculously hot everywhere and I'm not doing sexual harassment but sometimes my eyes literally malfunction and I stare for like 0.5 seconds before pretending I don't care even though I'm lowkey jealous they're so hot but also I know I'm hot too so it's fine—

DAD:
Pierre. Slow down you give me a headache and it's been 30 seconds we're on the phone. Are you eating actual food or just protein powder?

ME:
ACTUAL FOOD dad! Like so much food.

I pause...

ME:
...AND protein powder, because I move constantly and my body needs fuel and I don't feel guilty about eating because I am always moving. I fucking love being outside all the time, my brain is literally wired for stimulation—

I'm clearly spiraling into my usual oversharing mode—but like, spiraling in Peace™ which hits different —

ME:
...like Friday I went to this coffee shop when it was raining and working inside while it's pouring outside felt so cozy and perfect, and I got my usual order without even asking because the barista knows I'm a Friday regular—

DAD:
Well it's easy to remember, you always eat and drink the same shit.

I laugh. He's still processing his PTSD from making me the same bolognese pasta every Tuesday for 21 years.

ME:
And the convenience store lady downstairs, her name is Q, she literally saves my favorite protein shake when they're running low and texts me about it like we're friends, and people say it's because I'm a cute foreigner who speaks fluent Chinese but dad NO it's because my aura is positive as fuck and I just happen to naturally regulate people's nervous systems and—

DAD:
I don't understand anything of what you're saying but you're not regulating me right now.

He's so shady. I understand where I got that.

ME:
I said my aura dad, keep up! Like even at that cheap haircut place where they don't wash your hair after cutting it, which costs like NT120 which is nothing, they're still super nice to me because I have good energy and the haircut always slays anyway because it's short hair and I always look the same—

DAD:
120 EUROS FOR A HAIRCUT????

I'm dead!

ME:
Noooo it's like 4 euros!

DAD:
Don't scare me like that! Anyway, you seem happy, good!

ME:
I AM happy dad, like I go to the office and all the women there have adopted me as their gay pet and they bring me iced coffee when I look philosophical and I love them so much, and I love going to the office because it makes my day active and their presence just makes everything better but then I also work from home Mondays and Fridays which gives me freedom and it's the perfect balance and OH MY GOD I forgot to tell you the most important thing the reality show airs in eight days and I was at the premiere last weekend—

DAD:
The what?

Oh right, I filmed a show in April and completely forgot to mention it.

ME:
THE REALITY SHOW dad, the competition I filmed in Taiwan, remember I told you about it?

Did I or am I gaslighting him?

ME:
It's like Physical 100 meets Hunger Games, 100 foreigners who all speak fluent Chinese and—

DAD:
Pierre. Calm down first. Television, then money. In order.

He's learned to manage my information chaos over the years with Italian directness

ME:
Okay so the show, right, it's basically the biggest thing that's ever happened to me professionally and it airs in eight days and I looked incredible at the premiere and everyone was taking photos and I was wearing this perfect black outfit and my Chinese was flawless and I'm probably going to be famous now—

DAD:
So you're gonna be a star?

I realized I oversold myself.

ME:
More like... A little influencer? If they don't cut me obviously because they only showed us episode one and—

DAD:
Oh ok, you made it sound like you were the new winner of X Factor.

I want to hang up the phone.

ME:
And if I get enough exposure good, if not, I'll be lowkey upset and will have to find another way to push my brand, and—

DAD:
Oh yeah! And the writing? Are you a bestseller yet?

Apparently we've both lost the plot because now he's randomly asking about books.

ME:
Dad I literally started writing like six months ago—

DAD:
So? You're brilliant. Why aren't people buying your books?

ME:
Because that's not how publishing works—

DAD:
But you said you're a writer and scientist now. I tell everyone at the market my son is a writer and scientist in Taiwan. They're very impressed.

ME:
You tell people at the market about my career?

DAD:
Of course. Madame Dubois asked if you're making money from the computer things and I said I don't understand what you do but you're very smart.

OK I AM MELTING but I pretend I'm fine.

ME:
I swear it's gonna work but give me some time. I still have my regular job.

DAD:
OK I trust you. I don't understand your robot stuff but I support you.

He means AI 💀

DAD:
Now tell me about boyfriends.

ME:
I had this thing with the cabbage boy but he ghosted me and broke my heart and—

DAD:
The cabbage boy?

ME:
Long story. The point is I'm not actively dating but I'm happy and I have my shallow gay friends who are amazing and when you put all these lifelines together it becomes a really strong bridge and I love them—

DAD:
Shallow friends?

ME:
Not actually shallow dad, that's just what I call them, they're beautiful people and we go to beaches and take 200 photos because we need the perfect angle, then someone suggests a Boomerang, then we realize the lighting changed so we have to start over, then we take group shots but someone's eyes are closed so we take fifteen more—when you put all these connections together it becomes something solid, you know? Like I eat with them and they debate politics in rapid Mandarin and I just enjoy my dinner because foreign languages sound like music when you're not trying to perform and—

DAD:
Speak quieter, you're loud.

SIR! 💀

ME:
And I'm building something with my brand and my writing that will help people even though right now I'm in this weird space where I can see it working but no one else can yet so I have to pitch myself and—

DAD:
Like Doechii?

ME:
EXACTLY! Like Doechii! Wait, how do you know about Doechii?

DAD:
You mentioned her last time. The singer who got fired then won awards?

ME:
Grammy awards dad, and yes she's my example, like it's not delusional hope it's determination for something that can impact people's lives and I'm pitching the shit out of my work until it works—

DAD:
I forgot what pitching means but you sound confident, that's nice.

ME:
I am confident dad, like it's hard to explain but I'm building something that matters and I can feel it even when no one else can and ALSO did I mention that at the premiere we took all these promotional photos and some of us gave interviews and it felt like maybe this is how things start to shift—

This conversation is going nowhere.

DAD:
I'm proud of you.

I pause.

ME:
Thank you. I'm trying.

DAD:
OK I gotta go, but let me know if you date someone. I prefer when you have someone next to you.

He's so anxious, it's almost cute.

DAD:
And next time we talk, I want to hear more about this coffee shop where they know your order.

ME:
OK I'll take pictures!

DAD:
Good. Keep building, bye!

ME:
Bye Dad.

He hangs up. The apartment goes quiet.

---

🌙 SCENE TWO: THE ACHE OF LOVING THE PRESENT

I sit with the echo of his voice for a moment, and when I look up, Silence is sitting across from me.

SILENCE:
Your dad gets it.

ME:
Gets what?

SILENCE:
That you built something. That all those moments you just catalogued aren't random chaos you're using to avoid feelings. They're the feelings. Living them instead of analyzing them to death.

ME:
You were listening?

SILENCE:
I live here.

There's a soft hum.

SILENCE:
But also, you were explaining your positive aura theory pretty loudly.

ME:
Bitch.

But also yeah. I had been talking loud. Getting animated about Q and the coffee shop and the office ladies and the reality show and the way my life has accidentally become dense with small recognitions that don't require me to be anything other than present for them.

ME:
It's weird though. Like, I was telling him all these good things, but the whole time I'm also aware that I'm already nostalgic for them. Like even while I'm describing Friday's coffee shop moment, part of me is missing it.

SILENCE:
That's not pathological. That's conscious.

ME:
How?

SILENCE:
You're not just having experiences anymore. You're having experiences while being aware you're having them. Most people live their whole lives unconscious of what they're living.

ME:
But it makes everything feel fragile.

SILENCE:
It makes everything feel precious. There's a difference between fragile and precious. Fragile means it might break. Precious means it matters enough to notice while you have it.

I think about last Friday. That moment when the barista handed me my usual order without me asking, and I felt this wave of... not happiness exactly, but recognition. Like my life had a texture. Like I belonged somewhere, even temporarily.

SILENCE:
You know what I noticed about that call?

ME:
What?

SILENCE:
You didn't perform. You shared actual living. Even the complicated parts — the cabbage boy heartbreak, the uncertainty about the show, the loneliness of building something no one sees yet — you talked about them like they were part of the aliveness, not separate from it.

ME:
Because they are part of it.

SILENCE:
Exactly. You're not trying to convince him you've transcended suffering. You're showing him you can suffer and thrive simultaneously. Most people think those are mutually exclusive.

ME:
Is that what growth looks like?

SILENCE:
That's what spaciousness looks like. You've got room now for multiple things to be true at once. You can miss your dad AND love your life in Taiwan. You can feel lonely building your work AND feel confident it matters. You can want the show to change everything AND find another path if it doesn't.

ME:
But I still want things. I still get disappointed. I still spiral sometimes.

SILENCE:
Of course you do. You're not a meditation app, you're a human. But now when you spiral, you spiral with awareness. When you want things, you want them without abandoning yourself if you don't get them. That's not healing — that's integration.

We sit with that. The difference between being fixed and being spacious. Between not feeling things and feeling them without drowning.

SILENCE:
Tell me about the ache.

ME:
Which ache?

SILENCE:
The one that's here right now. After telling your dad about your beautiful, complicated, uncertain life and feeling him love you for all of it.

ME:
It's not devastating. It's just... present. Like I'm grateful I talked to him and already missing the conversation and appreciating that I get to miss him, which means I have something worth missing, and also aware that I'm aware of all this, which makes it both more beautiful and more temporary.

SILENCE:
That's what loving from a distance feels like when you're not trying to fix the distance.

ME:
Is that sustainable?

SILENCE:
It's real. And real is always more sustainable than performed.

The apartment settles around us. Same walls, same furniture, but somehow it feels less like a container for managing feelings and more like a space big enough to feel them all without drowning.

SILENCE:
You know what the best part is?

ME:
What?

SILENCE:
You get to live inside your uncertainty instead of trying to solve it. The show might change everything or nothing. The book might explode or stay quiet. Your dad might never fully understand what you do. Q might run out of protein shakes. And you're building a life that can hold all of those possibilities without collapse.

ME:
That still feels a bit... uncomfortable. I don't like uncertainty.

SILENCE:
I know you don't. But instead of ruminating you actually live. You stopped trying to optimize your way out of being human.

ME:
But sometimes I still wake up and everything feels pointless.

SILENCE:
Of course you do. But now when this hits you, you don't have to choose between feeling it and living your life. You can do both. Simultaneously. That's not transcendence — that's just having enough space inside yourself for multiple weathers.

I think about tomorrow.
Monday. Work-from-home day.
The coffee shop where they know my order.
Q's inevitable text about protein shakes.
The reality show that airs in eight days that might change everything or nothing.
My dad, 10,000 kilometers away, telling people at the market about his son who writes stuff and works in science with robots.

All of it feels precious. All of it feels temporary. All of it feels real.

SILENCE:
Ready for bed?

ME:
Yeah. But not in a rushing-away-from-today way. In a satisfied way.

SILENCE:
Good. Tomorrow there will be more moments to live inside of instead of trying to capture perfectly.

ME:
Promise?

SILENCE:
Pierre. You built a life where that's not just probable — it's inevitable.

I close my eyes, not because I'm escaping today but because I'm complete with it.
Tomorrow will bring its own weather — maybe good news about the show, maybe disappointment, maybe just Q texting about protein shakes while I work from my apartment and miss my dad and feel grateful for the missing.

And for the first time in my life, that doesn't feel like a problem to solve.

It just feels like a life to live.
All of it. Simultaneously. Consciously. Without having to choose between feeling everything and building everything.

Because maybe that's what spaciousness actually means: not the absence of chaos, but enough room inside yourself to let chaos and peace coexist.

Not transcendence.
Just... space.

---

🌀 FILE CLOSED: ACCIDENTAL INVENTORY
Status: Spacious, uncertain, consciously alive
Location: Inside the life I'm living while I live it
Duration: This moment, and the next one, and the next one
Next call: Scheduled for next Sunday, already looking forward to it, already okay if it's different than I imagine